


don we now our gay apparel

by Rhadamantelope



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Candlenights, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Sappy Boyfriends have their First Holiday together, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhadamantelope/pseuds/Rhadamantelope
Summary: “You, uh, you do celebrate Candlenights, right? That’s not forbidden in Raven-Queen-ism or whatever?”“I’m an emissary, not part of a cult.” Taako looked up at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “But I guess I do? Technically?”“Technically? Babe, it’s all or nothin’.” It wasn’t, really, in the grand scheme of things, but as far as Taako was concerned most holidays were all or nothing.(or: a how-to guide for Candlenights gift exchanges with your Grim Reaper boyfriend)





	

**Author's Note:**

> first off, sorry I've been literally MIA on here for over a year?? i feel like such a jerk bc i haven't uploaded anything for my other continuing fics...which I /do/ have ideas for just not the motivation atm  
> bbbbuuuuut I've always wanted to do a holiday fic but I never really had any good ideas before, idk why, though I loved the idea of Taako + Kravitz having some Gay Holiday Magic (TM). so here you go, I worked on this more than I should have lmao  
> (s/o to my roommate for Enabling me with that title btw)

He had never taken Kravitz to be a man with significantly broad shoulders, but the charcoal coat Taako had tugged around himself said otherwise. He fiddled with the dull silver buttons, slender fingers tucking just the top button into its hole.

“You think I could keep this?” he asked, the coat billowing as he turned to face its owner. Kravitz had sat back on his bed, long legs crossed neatly as he watched Taako pull the coat tighter around his own shoulders.

“As wonderful as you look in it,” he said, inspecting with utmost nonchalance the cufflinks of his white button-down (tiny pewter skulls, Taako noted in amusement). “I don’t think so.”

“Mmh, you’d look too much like a bartender without it anyway.” Taako strode back over to the bed and flopped down beside him, slinging one arm across Kravitz’s chest. “Not that I’m complaining, I’m always thirsty.”

Kravitz laughed; he had the most fantastic laugh, decidedly rare and almost melodic--though Taako wouldn’t admit it out loud. He simply grinned, pressing his face into the crook of his arm.

“You could give it to me for Candlenights,” Taako said, only half joking. Kravitz let out another small puff of laughter. “You, uh, you do celebrate Candlenights, right? That’s not forbidden in Raven-Queen-ism or whatever?”

“I’m an emissary, not part of a cult.” Taako looked up at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “But I guess I do? Technically?”

“Technically? Babe, it’s all or nothin’.” It wasn’t, really, in the grand scheme of things, but as far as Taako was concerned most holidays were all or nothing. Kravitz sighed.

“I mean...I could if I wanted to, but er, it’s a bit hard when most of the people you’ve been around for hundreds of years are--” He rolled his eyes and made a slicing gesture across his neck.

“Oh,” Taako murmured. Part of him felt like the motion was slightly offensive to dead people. Somehow. “What about the Raven Queen? She’s basically your new mom.”

“Taako, that’s not--”

“It was a joke, my man.” Taako shifted to put his chin on Kravitz’s chest, meeting his eyes. With one hand, he absently traced the seam of his black vest. “But really, I think you and I, me and you--”

“It’s you and I.”

Taako ignored him.

“I’m thinkin’ that we should have our own little fiesta for Candlenights, yeah?”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Taako placed both hands on Kravitz’s chest, propping himself up and leaning forward. “Oh, shit, it’ll be _great_ , we can exchange gifts and I don’t know, I can grab some stuff from the Bureau’s party if you want, or if you want to come...w-what? What’s with the look?”

Kravitz bit his lip, a huge smile spreading across his face. Taako blushed, his ears pressing flat against his head.

“Gifts? You really wanna get me a gift?”

“Hell yeah dude, I do it for everyone.”

Kravitz hesitated, a slight blush creeping over his own cheeks.

“We could...start with that, then,” he suggested, running a hand through Taako’s hair. Taako laid his head back down, leaning into the soft pressure of fingers on his scalp.

“Sounds good, my guy.”

Kravitz snickered, pressing a kiss to his head.

 

“You do realize that you can’t have a dog? Like, ever, right?”

“As long as we’re on the _moon_ , yeah,” Magnus said, a tad doleful. He cupped his large hands around the face of the puppy that sat at his feet, tail swishing back and forth. “But we won’t be forever. Will we, buddy?”

The little tawny mutt yipped, giving Magnus’s nose an enthusiastic lick. Magnus let out a laugh, deep and hearty and warm. Taako huffed and pulled his blue silk scarf over his nose. It did very little to fend off the cold, but it looked good on him and he’d be damned if he didn’t get a full use out of it after getting charged an arm and a leg for it.

As if on cue, a small hand tugged at the end of the scarf hanging down Taako’s back.

“Pardon, sir, but do you want to borrow my scarf? You look awfully cold.”

“Agnes, hon, if I turn around and you’re offering me that puke green scarf, you’re on your own getting back to the Bureau.”

The grip on the scarf let up, and Angus McDonald shuffled up beside him. He did indeed have a thick wool scarf the color of an old olive wrapped around his neck, its frayed edges framing his round red race.

“I could get you a new one as a Candlenights gift--”

“You’re not supposed to tell people what you’re getting them, pumpkin.”

“Oh.”

Taako shivered, grinding the heel of his boot into the amalgam of snow and ice that blanketed the road, warranting a nervous glance from Angus.

“Are you...alright, sir?”

The bell above the nearby shop door let out a chime.

“Oh, he’s fine,” called Merle, hefting a bag of sweets in his arms. “He’s just annoyed ‘cause his _boyfriend’s_ impossible to shop for.”

Magnus tore his attention away from the puppy to whom he was beginning to grow a bit too attached and snickered, his chuckle spreading to Angus, who put a fist clad in maroon cotton to his mouth to keep from laughing too loud.

Taako could feel his ears heat up and promptly flicked them back. It wasn’t his fault that the Grim Reaper and Candlenights gifts didn’t really mix easy; Kravitz hadn’t celebrated the damn holiday since probably before his debt to the Raven Queen, and the obnoxious pang of guilt Taako felt over it made holiday shopping a bit more difficult than usual. Just a bit.

“I mean, hey,” Merle continued. “You could get him a new book to put dead people’s names in, the one he had was lookin’ pretty beat up. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

“Mm, yeah, I bet.”

“Nah, nah,” Magnus strode over and clapped a hand to Taako’s shoulder. “I’m gonna be real with you, no joking around right now, okay? You’ve gotta get him something that really comes from the heart, something like, let’s say...”

“Magnus,” Taako interrupted, plucking a heavy hand off of his person. “If you say a hand-carved coffee table or some shit like that--”

“I was gonna say a puzzle box, like the one I helped Carey with for Killian.” He shrugged, offering an amiable half-smile. “Unless you wanna spend the next day or two making a coffee table.”

“I’m good, thanks. Dunno how the Raven Queen would take to having furniture lugged to and fro in the astral plane or whatever.” Taako puffed out his cheeks and glanced from Merle to Magnus and back to the oversized bag of candy cradled in Merle’s arm like a misshapen terrycloth infant. “Are we y’know, like, ready to go, or are we gonna just stand here and stare at each other in the cold?”

“Sir,” Angus said in a small voice. “You didn’t find _anything_ for this boyfriend of yours?”

Taako scoffed, flicking the feather that dangled off of the boy detective’s cap.

“I’ll wing it, don’t you worry about it.”

But Angus frowned and adjusted his comically large glasses, which signaled an inevitable sermon of his own observations.

“This, um, boyfriend--a servant of the astral realm, right?” With a roll of his eyes, Taako nodded. The tiniest of smiles lit up Angus’s face. “Well, if the way he seems to make you feel is any indicator, he’s pretty darn smitten with you, too.”

 _Little shit_ , Taako thought, trying not to give much mind to how blotchy his skin must have been between the cold air and the embarrassment of how _obvious_ his infatuation with Kravitz was.

“And I-I mean, that doesn’t seem like something you can just...like...wing? I guess?” Angus rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, that kind of fell apart at the end there.”

Taako let out a sharp breath.

“Alright, I _guess_ ,” he said, gazing down the street. He narrowed his eyes at the street signs that hung along the brick walls, lit up pale yellow in the dimming light of the late afternoon. A couple doors down, a flickering lantern bathed the tiny sign before it in orange light, illuminating what looked like the phrase “Falconer’s Trading Post,” or perhaps “Fuckener’s Trading Post”--which Taako vastly preferred. “C’mon, I’ll be real quick.”

 

The shop’s interior was just as flickery as the lantern hung haphazardly outside, revealing a cluttered menagerie of...well, too much, frankly. Taako resisted the urge to instruct Angus not to get lost.

“How may I help you lads?” a voice inquired from behind a pile of itchy-looking blankets. A very small--almost abnormally so--scaly individual stepped out, picking yarn off his blunt antler-like horns. He was a dragonborn, squat and barely as tall as Taako himself, with scales the color of eggplant and one yellowed horn broken off halfway. He offered them a smile filled with sharp, uneven teeth that was a bit more menacing than likely intended.

“D’you think he and Carey are related?” Merle whispered.

“No,” Magnus replied. “Also, I think that’s racist.”

“Are you, uh...” Taako glanced back at the sign, but it was so faded that even up close it was barely legible. “...Fuckener?”

But the little old dragonborn said nothing, simply bustling over to the desk to sort out a pile of tangled necklaces. Shrugging, Taako continued inside, past the blanket stack and past a pinewood table, bare save for a thin leather-bound journal tethered shut by a weathered cord. He halted at the table’s edge, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him; the sound of a song echoed in the back of his mind, a single short string of notes looping over and over, something passionate but welcoming all the same. And yet, he couldn’t place it.

“Had it for ages,” the shopkeeper (Falconer? Fuckener? Grampa Fangbattle? Whatever.) croaked. “Never could get rid of it. Think it needs someone to give it some love, to play what’s written in it.”

Taako stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the idea of giving love to a ratty old notebook. The shopkeeper did not look up from his rat’s-nest of necklaces, but continued:

“You can take a look inside, if you so wish.”

Gingerly, Taako took the book in his hands; it was light, even for how thin it was. With the soft chime of the unknown melody still in his head, he unlooped the cord around its bindings, allowing it to fall open onto a random page.

Hastily scrawled notes--musical notes--on hand-drawn staves covered the pages, with scribbles in the margins calling for “clarinets here” and “lutes enter there” written in sharp yet beautifully slanting script. Every so often, a page would have a large blotch of ink on it, obscuring part of the composition and annotated with a dismayed and messy “SHIT.” He flicked through the pages, moving to the back where several pages of parchment were still blank and ready to accept the words of their owner whenever he so chose, then towards the front of the notebook until his gaze fell upon the first page, blank but for the former composer’s name written in a much clearer, bolder version of that same serpentine script.

Taako swallowed, his heart skipping a beat. No, that...that couldn’t be right. Could it?

He closed the book, letting his eyes wander across the shop before coming to rest on a garment of jet-black yarn, knitted with the utmost care into a scarf emblazoned with a dull white skull. Taako grinned, raising his ears with utmost glee. He padded over to it, taking one end in his palms to inspect the pattern; it was fantastically edgy, the crocheted skull encircled by a red and silver knot pattern and flanked by little white bones. Beside the scarf lay a matching set of mittens, each with the same little skull knitted into them.

It was, by far, one of the cutest things Taako had ever laid eyes on.

“Oh my gods,” he said. “You guys. Oh man, you guys I found the perfect fucking thing. Holy shit...he’s gonna love this.”

 

The certainty with which Taako had proclaimed that Kravitz was bound to love the stupid scarf and mittens had started to dwindle by the time he arrived at the edge of town. It was some place in the north of Faerûn, probably with “Frost” in the name because people were predictable. Or something. Taako sighed, making a little fan pattern in the snow with the toes of his boots.

The wrapping paper crinkled beneath his arm as he shoved his hands into his pockets; his breath appeared in a cloud before him as he exhaled, impatient.

It was such a dumb joke gift, the contents of the package in his grip. He scoffed, simply hoping that Kravitz, too, would see the humor in it. _Bones, get it? Because you're the Grim Reaper?_

Atop the hill before him, a rift appeared, rippling against the snow-covered evergreens beyond the town and giving way to the image of a cloaked figure. Taako couldn't help but chuckle as Kravitz removed his hood dramatically, only to start furiously brushing falling snow out of his dark, perfect hair. He met Taako’s gaze at the bottom of the hill, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Taako returned the smile, dashing up the hill and kicking up a miniature snowfall of his own in his wake. His balance gave out as he reached Kravitz, who grasped his forearms to steady him.

“It's almost like you haven't seen me in a year,” he said, amused. Taako laughed, allowing Kravitz to slowly release his forearms but catching his hands at the last second and holding on intently.

“And if I hadn't,” he said. “would you still have made me come all the way to the fuckin’ hinterlands? We couldn't have done this in, oh...Neverwinter?”

“And here I thought you were all for getting me into the Candlenights spirit.”

“You don't need snow to do that,” Taako argued, looking down at their clasped hands. Kravitz’s hands were still cold, without a doubt, but were covered by a pair of thin, gray kidskin gloves. He frowned.

_Stupid stupid stupid._

“Taako?”

Taako cleared his throat, stepping back for a moment and extracting the package out from under his stiffened arm, which had begun to cramp.

“Got you a present, Krav,” he said with a wink. Kravitz stared down at the blue wrapping paper littered with silver stars and tiny white birds; Taako couldn't tell whether he was blushing or not in the evening light, but he sure as hell hoped so.

“You...you didn't have to?”

“Oh come on, I _did_ tell you it's what I do for everyone.” For everyone I love, he almost said. The very closeness of the thought shocked him, and he bit his lip. “I'm gonna be real sad if you didn't get me anything.”

Kravitz laughed.

“You, ah...you don't have to worry about that.” He took the gift from Taako’s hands, fingers finding the taped-together overlap in the paper and tearing the seam. Kravitz unraveled the woolen scarf, letting it drape across one arm as he looked over the mittens in his other hand.

“Figured what with your damn cold hands you could probably use ‘em…” The joke came out sounding more dejected than Taako had planned, but Kravitz smiled. He looped the scarf over his shoulders.

“Thank you, Taako,” he said. “I really like them, no one's ever given me mittens. For any reason, really. I love the skulls.”

Taako breathed a sigh of relief, and reached up to adjust the scarf, tightening it across Kravitz’s neck; it looked slightly ridiculous against his suit and cloak, but the grin on his face seemed genuine. Standing on his toes, Taako tugged at the black scarf, pulling Kravitz’s face closer to his.

“Just a moment,” Kravitz said as Taako closed his eyes. “Er, sorry, was that rude? I just--I have something I want to give you too.”

From somewhere in his cloak, Kravitz extracted a book, its hard cover bound in red leather and held shut with a large violet ribbon.

“I didn't...have any paper on me.”

“It's all good, my man.”

Taako pulled the ribbon off. The book was blank inside, but well made and smelled of newly pressed parchment and faintly of...magic?

“It's--well, let me just say it doesn't have to be but--it's a recipe book,” Kravitz explained. “The pages won't get wet or show stains if you need to have it out on the...the counter, or anything. I hope...I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries.”

Thin fingers slid over the red leather cover as Taako considered the gift, his mind running through reactions so fast it felt almost blank. It was with great care and trepidation that he cooked anything now; Kravitz had alluded to wanting to try his cooking one day, and it both flattered and stung him to the very core. Sure, Glamorsprings hadn’t _really_ been his fault, but every time he looked away from the cutting board, Taako could practically hear the sounds of choking, of horrified shouts in the tones of Merle, of Magnus, of Angus...of _Kravitz_ , whose relative immortality did nothing to soothe his soul.

But he had a pile of recipes torn out of pamphlets sitting in his room, annotated with corrections he knew were vast improvements, each tested but once--and most certainly never fed to anyone.

He’d need a place to keep them.

He felt Kravitz’s hands slide over his own before his vision fully registered them.

“Oh, I’m sorry darling,” he whispered, thumbs rubbing frantic circles across Taako’s knuckles. “I didn’t... _gods_ , that was stupid of me.”

But Taako let out a short bark of laughter.

“It’s...no, my guy. It’s fuckin’ perfect.” He pulled his hands away, pressing the book to his chest and grinning. The intimation of dampness hovered at the edge of his eyes, and he attempted to blink it away to no avail in the biting winter winds. “It’s just what I needed. Thank you...so much. Though I feel real dumb now, getting you those mittens and shit.”

The mittens, which had been set aside in Kravtiz’s coat pocket, were tugged out and promptly pulled on over his thin gloves. Kravitz flexed his hands in them; they looked hilarious, puffy and out-of-place, but Kravitz’s red eyes lit up as he surveyed his hands.

“Nonsense, I love them! They’re so warm.”

“Oh yeah? Taako smirked, rubbing at his left eye with the heel of his hand. Kravitz raised one stupidly flawless eyebrow and reached over, taking Taako’s face in his hands.

He wasn’t lying about those mittens.

“May I?” Kravitz asked when they were nose to nose.

“Oh h-hell yeah,” Taako said, not waiting for any response before closing the gap between them. Kravitz’s lips were cold, and Taako knew he should have expected that, but his eyes still widened at the contact. But Kravitz tilted his head, and the mage let his eyes flutter shut. He leaned heavily into him, one arm still clasping the book while the other came to fiddle with Kravitz’s hair, thick and obsidian-black and now mingled with snowflakes.

The mittens left Taako’s face, and the two broke apart, breath mingling in the scant space between them. Taako smiled, feeling the tips of his ears warm, and pressed his forehead to Kravitz’s.

“Krav,” he said, eyes cracking open. “Come back to the moonbase with me, yeah?”

Kravitz chuckled.

“I have work, love.”

“On Candlenights? Oh, boo.”

“Death doesn’t differentiate, unfortunately.”

“Well, Death sounds like kind of an asshole,” Taako snorted. “C’mon, gimme one good reason why you can’t stay for a couple hours.”

“I can give you a few.” Kravitz stepped back, his tattered tome of bounties materializing in one outstretched hand. He flipped through it, tongue swiping across his upper lip as he squinted at the yellowed pages. For a moment, Taako wondered if the entries were written in his own handwriting, if that handwriting was even legible…

_Hold up...handwriting!_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a hot second, cold stuff!” Taako opened his jacket, searching intently through each sewn-in pocket, each one cobbled together from a different flashy fabric.

“Cold stuff…?” Kravitz allowed the book to vanish from his skull-adorned hand.

“I...got you...one more thing that I thought...ah!” Taako did not remove it from his pocket just yet, but turned to look at Kravitz. “Now, uh, before I give this to you, you remember when you said you wanted to be a conductor?”

“I...I do, yes.”

“We’re talkin’ like, for an orchestra, tailcoats and all that jazz, yeah? Not as in...trains. Choo, choo, you feel?”

Kravitz could not stifle a giggle, and he clapped a wooly hand over his mouth as if to shove it back in. Taako’s face went hot; he swore the very sound must have transmuted his green skin to bright red, from the bottom of his chin to the pointed tips of his ears, in a matter of seconds.

“Um,” Kravitz began, attempting to regain his composure. “Yes, we’re talking for an orchestra. I’m...sorry, that was just. It was very cute.”

 _Oh my gods_ , thought Taako. _He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me without ever touching me with a scythe._

“Well, uh, I figure this makes a lot more sense then.” He pulled a thin package wrapped in the same birds-and-stars paper out, presenting it like some sort of sacred item. Kravitz took it, tearing the paper away and eyeing Taako curiously.

He didn’t open it immediately, and for a moment Taako thought perhaps he didn’t recognize it, perhaps that part of him had been lost in his debt to the Raven Queen. But ever so slowly, Kravitz untied the leather cord and turned the pages, his face awash with reverent shock.

“This is…” He gulped, pressing his fingertips (mittentips, perhaps) to the dried ink. “Taako, where did you _find_ this?”

“Some little trinket shop, Falconman’s or something?” Taako tilted his head and stepped forward. “I, uh...I guess it’s my turn to tell you that I hope I’m not pushing my boundaries here.”

Kravitz shook his head, blinking hard.

“No...no, no, not in the least.” His voice was tense, on the verge of becoming choked up as he shook his head. Taako laid a hand on his arm. “I thought...I thought I’d never see something like this--something from my life, ever again. It’s just odd, I suppose.”

“The guy who sold it to me,” Taako began, raising an arm to caress Kravitz’s dark cheek, cool even through his own glove. Kravitz leaned into the touch. “He said he thought it needed someone to ‘give it some love,’ that was how he put it.”

Kravitz smiled, meeting Taako’s gaze, and in the heat of the moment pulled him into a tight embrace. Taako nuzzled his face into Kravitz’s neck, pressing his chest to the reaper’s in what might have been an attempt to share his own warmth with Kravitz. His heart pounded like a wardrum, and he wondered if Kravitz could feel it; did Kravitz’s heart still beat? If only for sentimentality’s sake, Taako hoped it did.

“So,” he continued in a whisper. “I suppose what I’m kinda sayin’ here--indirectly, I guess? Hah--is that I…”

He trailed off; his hands pressed a bit harder into the flat of Kravitz’s back. Knowingly, Kravitz smiled into his shoulder.

“...So do you...still write music?”

Kravitz hummed affirmatively.

“I’d love to hear some of that one day.”

“Maybe over dinner.”

Taako cackled, and the pair separated. Kravitz reached over, brushing a lock of red-gold hair off of his face.

“It’s not dinner per se, but I’ve got macarons back at the base,” Taako offered, clasping both hands over the book Kravitz had gotten him and digging one toe into the snow coyly. “They’re pomegranate. If that’ll convince you to stay a while.”

Kravitz sighed, glancing to the firs on either side of him and then back to Taako, whose ears flicked with sly curiosity.

“Well,” he said. “I would be remiss in my role as a representative of the astral plane if I were to not take you up on that offer, I feel.”

Taako beamed, his cheeks burning (out of chill or pure adoration for the bounty hunter before him, he did not know).

“So I take it our first Candlenights together isn’t too shabby?”

“It’s been fantastic, darling.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Taako continued. “There’s six more days of this shit if you’re up for it, homie.”

“Hm,” Kravitz put a hand to his chin in mock deliberation. “I think I just might be.”

He offered his arm to Taako, who took it with all the eagerness of a weary traveler to the distant light of a city.

Kravitz’s scythe materialized in his hand, and Taako heard him humming faintly, a soft and gentle stream of chords resounding from deep in his chest. It was a sound second in loveliness only to Kravitz’s deep, genuine laughter. The scythe’s steel blade sliced through the frigid air, opening a rift as simply as one might tear apart a worn-out stitch. As Kravitz led him through, Taako smiled even wider and gripped his arm a bit tighter; he recognized the refrain Kravitz hummed now as the one echoing through his head just the other day.

He brought the reaper’s hand to his lips and, letting it fall away, his mouth tasted like wool and mothballs.

**Author's Note:**

> do they have mothballs in the dnd universe? fantasy mothballs from fantasy costco? they do now.


End file.
